Hey there. Still vacationing. Still on the island.
But yesterday, there was a moment that illuminates an aspect of how fortunate I am in my relationship with Belle Fille. We were having dinner, just the two of us, at a favorite little island dive. Drew asked me to pick up a t-shirt for him from the place (he’s been there before, too) and there it was, sitting on the table between my wife and I. The shirt I picked up for the guy I fuck around with on the side. We sat and talked and everything was quite normal, boyfriend shirt and all.
Our waitress reminded me of Rachel Green from Friends. She was young, blond, had a slightly too big nose (though not as big as Rachel’s pre-rhinoplasty). Looked like she might have been rebelling against a rich father by schlepping burgers and beer on a tropical island. Like Rachel, waitress was hot as fuck. Unlike at least season one Rachel, waitress was, as Belle said, “a tight little package.”*
“Really?” I said, “Hadn’t noticed.”
“Yes you did. You always notice.”
She’s right. Of course I noticed. No human being could not notice this woman. Her hotness was accentuated by the imperfect nose. It made her more real. More attainable and therefore more desirable. Her clothing comprised entirely of thin fabric wrapped around her hips and a torn up skin-tight tank top with the bar’s log on it secured by a knot behind her neck. Not slutty (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Just casual and intensely alluring. My head tracked her movements often, both before and after Belle’s comment. Like when my dog watches Belle make bacon.
Some guys are with women who would be annoyed by the fact their partners would be attracted to someone so obviously attractive. That they’d notice it walking around in front of them. Not me. Mine is better than that. She’s supremely confident in the place she has in my heart. Hot chicks are hot chicks. Boyfriends are boyfriends. Belle is the love of my life. And she knows it.